The air in the apartment felt heavy, thick with the ghosts of the last six months.
Alina sat back on her heels, the cold floor biting into her skin, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was racing. She looked at Damian, really looked at him, and tried to reconcile the man standing there with the story he had just told.
It was a lot to take in—the secret deals, the threats, and the fact that her own parents were the ones who had pulled the rug out from under her.
It made a sick kind of sense. It explained why her mother had been so pushy about the university papers, and why her father had suddenly gone silent about the man he once praised. They hadn't just protected her; they had tried to erase him.
"I didn't want to do it," Damian confessed. His voice was rough, lacking its usual polished edge.
